These are apparently Asian doughnuts, as offered to us by the waitress at the Cleveland cafeteria I was at lunchtime. Despite their innate Asianness – I mean, they’re called Asian doughnuts for a reason, right? – I was unable to detect any Asianness in them. No barbecued pork, no wasabi, no egg tart. Nothing.

En route out, carrying our leftovers, we somehow attract the attention of a slightly old man who strikes up a conversation about our leftovers. Assuming he’s after some money, I give him $2. But instead of going away as his London equivalent would do, he carries on talking to us about his job working in the Florida nuclear regulatory commission, his daughter who designed one of the buildings along the street, and he even shows us his drivers licence. For some strange reason, none of it rings true. After all, why would random strangers strike up conversations with other random strangers?